Zurich chronicles

It's my 7th day in Zurich. First it was all green, peaceful, swans and ducks gliding...

On saturday with the crazy cheesy street parade, with drag queen wannabes, druggies, underage drunks, naked girls, cat women, smurf men, terrible club music and overpriced bad food the picture started to change.

sunday i tried to get drunk over champagne by the lake, but failed.

monday it was raining like shit. trapped in the house all day. cleaned, cooked, slept.

tuesday with nowhere exciting to be discovered left, I went to the zoo which was totally underwhelming. Even Ankara zoo has more animals then this. also as a swiss classic, it is again overpriced.

Yesterday was the dreaded birthday of mine. not much to talk about, apart from walking the shopping 'strasse' aimlessly, a useless splurge at H&M and a semi-fancy dinner at Acqua. By 22.00, the city was like a ghost town only little local hangouts which close at 00.00 were buzzing piano piano. of course after midnight everything dies.

I don't know who coined out the term "the most livable city in Europe" for this place. Maybe Monocle people?

I'm not sure what they get from 'living'.

The only part of this city that 'lives' is the so called red light district (Langestrasse).

But even that area is safe around prostitutes, junkies, strippers and loners.

I miss crowds, friends, joyful dinner tables, good parties, loud streets terribly.

And feel painfully guilty from being a total bitch through out the whole visit.

I have no plans for today. maybe I'll just take a random tram and go wherever. eventually I would end up on the lakeside anyway.

200 years of love and pain

The Google Ngram for love vs pain is helpful obviously:



I complained, nagged, wept almost all my life.

there are some moments of bubbliness now and then.

But, I missed really good opportunities to be genuinely happy.

Fortunately google is here to help me see I'm not alone.

200 years of good writing, all to see we use 'love' -not so suprisingly- less and focus on the dreadful arrogance of 'pain'.

today I made a -not so convincing- promise to write down LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE 5 times a day.

maybe it will help change the course of history.


At least we have some good news, the word 'happiness' is on the rise too

Maybe I can replace some drama with this thought.

Around the World with Facebook

Around the World with Facebook

friendly dinner w/benefits

According to the source Scarlett Johansson and soon-to-be-ex hubby Ryan Reynolds had a 'friendly dinner' at Blue Ribbon, New York.

Sure, there's nothing sweeter than a friend to chat while having escargot and fried oysters for starters, chocolate bruno and fresh berries for dessert.

I'm sure ryan and scar.jo has just discussed the mere details of their divorce, then talk about their new love interests and have a blast.

that is what I usually do.

Mark Zuckerberg

Only diplomacy I care about

Mark Zuckerberg is Time's person of the year.
I think I'm the only one who cheers for this, since chick magnet Julian Assange was expected to hit #1.

so this proves,
only diplomacy we care about is digging ex-boyfriends' dirt on facebook.

Mark most definitely is the hero of our time, by granting the 'stalkbook' to all the psychos and retards in the world.

gratz

that's what home feels like

I couldn't quite state the feeling i got by just stepping inside my flat nowadays. Then, i found this:

beautiful piece of destruction/art to express how home feels like now.

(Julien Berthier, 'Welcome Home', 2003)

two more lonely people

Today, in a mall, in the crazy mess of clothes and demented women, miley cyrus was singing this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uc2CGi09bus&feature=related

And instantly upon the extreme cheesiness of the situation, i thought about eleanor rigby.
"look at all the lonely people..."

so comes the conclusion: best beatles song memory shifted, it is now eleanor rigby's job to bring back good (or bad) times...

reasons why you need domestic heroism at home

define domestic heroism: A Crixus at home.

I just poped my backbone trying to get ice from the icebox. which leads to the conclusion that every girl needs some muscle at one point.
for situations like:
-ice cracking
-various fixing
- bottle opening
- furniture moving
- bug killing
- grocery shopping

i dont want to die like samantha jones, with a severe flu and no one to call for soup.

my back still hurts, is it worth it?

curse of adrian lyne

There are times in life, when it is over, you can summarize with a song.
Like, 1999 was an Elvis Costello song.
1997-1998 was down and dirty gloomy like Crustation.
This is fine. The worst is the time when your life can be defined with movies, a particular director's filmography to be exact.
It is fine, if this is Tarantino, kinda pathetic but funny if it is Woody Allen.

I'm on the end of a period which can be defined by... Adrian Lyne.
Downright bad. 'in yer face' nasty. restless. uncomfortable.

The filmography speaks for itself:


- Nine 1/2 weeks (1986)
We know this is the pinnacle of erotic dramas. but it is not just that. the misery of kim basinger is unbearable. the obsession caused by mickey rourke's unpredictability is sick.


- Fatal Attraction (1987)
This one defined Glenn Close's star persona. No other role can top that psychotic bitch. Alex Forrest (Close) is a woman you wouldn't wanna get involved. Apart from being fatally dangerous, she constantly embarrasses herself, keeps being rejected and humiliated, continues to drown in her own jealousy. she is emotional sickness on two legs and big hair.

Defining moment:
Dan Gallagher: You're so sad. You know that, Alex? Lonely and very sad.
Alex Forrest: Don't you ever pity me, you smug bastard.
Dan Gallagher: I'll pity you... I'll pity you. I'll pity you because you're sick.
Alex Forrest: Why? Because I won't allow you treat me like some slut you can just bang a couple of times and throw in the garbage?


-Indecent Proposal (1993)
Everytime i watch this, my heart breaks for Woody Harrelson, who plays the unfortunate husband David Murphy. The movie leads you to a slow and painful end, which you've seen it coming but couldn't do anything. You know David will lose his wife (Demi Moore). You know, this 'game' will turn ugly. You know he is helpless. When he finds Redford's card in her bag, you feel the same shit feeling: "I've seen it coming. I knew it." Then he throws the wine bottle to the fridge. Everything shatters down.
Defining moment:
Diana: Somethings are not for sale.
John: Such as?
Diana: Well you can't buy people.



-Lolita (1997)
I don't have to explain anything about this. Everything in one disgusting package.

Humbert: I missed you. I missed you a lot.
Lolita: Well I haven't missed you. In fact, I've been revoltingly unfaithful to you. But it doesn't matter, because you don't care about me anymore anyway.
Humbert: What makes you think I don't care about you?
Lolita: Well you haven't kissed me yet, have you?


- Unfaithful (2002)
Tagline reads: "Where do you go when you've gone too far?"
One of the nice questions with no answer. It is like solving the mystery of the universe. What kind of cheating is forgivable, how long can you stand living a dual life? How can you tell yourself to stop? Should you forgive someone who is unfaithful?
I detect myself in craziness.
Defining moment:
Connie Sumner: I think this was a mistake.
Paul: There is no such thing as a mistake. There are things you do, and things you don't do.

---
I look forward to a Kusturica kind of life.

If filmmakers directed superbowl

Boys will be boys

Glamour UK did a photo shoot with bright British actors for its February issue.

Spielberg: "This is gonna be the biggest hit of all time"

Lucas Looks Back On Movie-Making



As creator of the Star Wars universe, George Lucas launched a franchise whose impact on pop culture — and on Hollywood — has been immeasurable. His special-effects house has pioneered one cinematic revolution after another.



His latest project, though, is a book. George Lucas' Blockbusting is a go-to blueprint for the aspiring filmmaker, a behind-the-scenes history of movies that looks back over 100 years through the lens of 300 major hits: their creative genesis, why they stood out, how they became lasting icons. But mainly, it strips away the glitz and glamour of the movie-making biz and gets down to the nitty-gritty of how a movie is made, including everything from advertising expenses to production budgets to shooting schedules.

Of course, it all begins with the love of the movie. And with breaking into the business. Back in the '60s, when Lucas was getting started, there was "zero chance" of finding a way in, he says. In that notoriously nepotistic age, "you had to be related to somebody," he says.

Lucas and a small cadre of film-school friends, including the then-unknown Steven Spielberg and Francis Ford Coppola, set out to make their own way in.

"We loved movies, we loved making movies, and we cooperated with each other and were helping each other," Lucas says. "We were like, you know, rebels trying to work our way in somehow."

They screened their movies for each other, offering frank feedback and sharing advice. For years, even after the men had made names for themselves — Coppola with 1972's The Godfather, Lucas with American Graffiti in 1973, Spielberg with 1975's Jaws and 1977's Close Encounters of the Third Kind — they kept up the practice.

"When I did that with Star Wars, it was in really rough shape," Lucas says. The special effects weren't in yet. John Williams's score, either. And not everyone got it.

"Some friends, like Brian de Palma, said, you know, 'What's this crazy Force stuff, and why isn't there more blood?' ... I mean, the great thing about having friends watch your movie is they give it to you, which is what you want."

But one friend saw the promise, Lucas remembers.
"Some of them didn't understand it. ... [But] some of them, like Steve Spielberg, said, 'This is going to be the biggest hit of all time.'"

New Skins!

The Jazz Loft

The Jazz Loft Project is the most amazing thing I heard about recently. The book was published months ago. But I have just found their web site.

White Rose bar sign from the fourth floor of Sixth Avenue 821

From 1957 to 1965 legendary photographer W. Eugene Smith made approximately 4,000 hours of recordings on 1,741 reel-to-reel tapes and nearly 40,000 photographs in a loft building in Manhattan's wholesale flower district where major jazz musicians of the day gathered and played their music. Smith's work has remained in archives until now. The Jazz Loft Project is dedicated to uncovering the stories behind this legendary moment in American cultural history.

Eugene Smith at the loft.

The exhibition starts on February 17th, NY Public Library of Performing Arts.

Childhood Fierceness

I've been following Maxigumee's blog for about 4 years now. It's been a while since I last checked. Came across this sweet photoshoot today.
All about a childhood fantasy where you dream about having the whole hotel room to yourself and trashing it all down!

best first lines

26.org has a sweet project called the "best first lines"
here;
http://www.26.org.uk/essays.asp?id=10

some are really brilliant, like:
“The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.”Samuel Beckett, ‘Murphy’
Along with “Call me Ishmael”, from Moby Dick, this is actually the only first line I can quote from memory, but it’s a classic. There’s wit, world weariness and poetic rhythm all in there, and a huge sense of anticipation. You have to read on, and you’re not disappointed.
Martin Lee

Forget everything.”Bob Gill, ‘Logo Mania’
Bob gave me a copy after a long talkative lunch in New York last month. I hadn’t seen him since he taught me at the RCA 25 years ago, but he’s lost none of his steam, wit and scathing contempt for sloppy graphic design. A sprightly 76, Bob is still thinking radically about how ideas happen. This particular thesis – amongst many we chomped our way through – was that design solutions are increasingly meaningless and driven by style, and to find something truly interesting to say about anything we have to start from scratch. So throw out your software programmes, abandon your image banks, junk your brand onions, burn to your mood boards, donate your D&AD annuals to the Oxfam shop, stick all that lorem and ipsum through the shredder, and buy yourself a nice new pointy pencil. Tom Lynham

The Cheat Loop

Cheating, along with lying is wrapped around a tricky vicious circle. a cursed loop i might say. it reminds me of having class skipping as a habbit you can't break. it gradually grows, expands, spreads its roots to every extent of your life, tangles it up and you end up with a broken china in hand, trying to glue the precious pieces of your life. how pathetic is that.



in a way, it is a way of self destruction. if the biggest concern behind your tainted intention to cheat is not revenge - i'm talking about a real hunger for revenge - then, i can't find a reason to do so, if again you're not a freakin self destructor.



Because, all the cheaters around the world (a.t.c.a.t.w), (you should form a guild, organize group theraphy meetings, or make evil plans to rule the world and eventually end life on earth by cheating away) would agree that, after the act, you stop and stare for ridicilous amounts of hours with the curl in your stomach, with hunched down shoulders, head between your hands, thinking "why?", "was it worth it?", "what have i done?", "what will happen next?".



again, a.t.c.a.t.w would probably agree that, there's no fun in it at all. i'm excluding the exception of an evil revenge fuck and the demonic laughter comes right after it. if you're not a human being purely equiped with ammunation of evil, you don't say "that was fun!" after shagging the night away with a stranger or an ex, while your all-loving and trusting significant other is waiting for you to come home.



so, what's the point? maybe some would suggest that it is the "thrill of the moment",the excitement you sickly get from doing something forbidden. bullshit. first of all, there's no thrill in that act itself. most of the part you spend absorbed with the thoughts of "what am i doing? what am i doing? what am i doing?!" obviously, it is hard to be thrilled with the poisonous guilt rushing through your veins, but again, a self-destructor can easily enter an orgasmic mode, with all the guilt, the sadness, the frightening insecurity of the wrong side of the road.



excitement? not so much. if we're talking about the forbidden fruit fixation, then i might suggest public sex. the cheating scene is usually falls short, when it comes to satisfy the expectations. you think it would be the best you've ever had, a magical moment you could not resist, fireworks, a moment so thrilling that you would be excused when you say "how was i to resist something like that?"



but no. it usually goes wrong. i'm not just talking about the sex. if you go out for dinner, to talk, to get intimate about some question marks digging up your mind, maybe to feel romantic and flirty. that goes wrong too. because you always sit on that table, or lie in that bed with a split mind. half of you is somewhere far away strugling with your conscience. concentration, full intimacy, truthfulness, warmth, compassion is out of question. the dinner is cold, so as the bed.



ok, so a.t.c.a.t.w understand that this is bad. you feel like shit. but they keep on doing it. "no satisfaction."



simple as that, really. most of them are hopeless attention cravers, they are incapable of love most of the time, but in desperate need to be loved no matter what, they are strangers to their inner-self, don't know what they want, don't know how to find... so they find themselves trapped in this cheat loop every time.





so a piece of advice for a.t.c.a.t.w: take a u turn, or watch U Turn the movie, see how j.lo handles relationships, or her ass for that matter.





life is peachy.

“Don’t be Evil!”: The Laughing Clown and the Neo-sights of Postcolonialism

The Indian prisoner is set free. He is “allowed“ to speak his mind. He gets a smile back. He is on MTV.

The face of the emperor is replaced with the leering clown face of Ronald McDonald.
It’s now an all-laughing, all-cheering peaceful world isn’t it? Full of attractions, spectacles, love and fireworks. It’s the empire of Walt Disney, The World of Coca-Cola.
I know it’s somewhat cheesy to degrade the postcolonial debate to coco-colonization. However, there lies the danger in need of assessment, and the road to that curls around the homeland of citizen Mickey.
The new colonial emperors are not controlling the routes to gems, cocoa, silk and gold. They got control over kamasutra, feng shui, the kimono and the nasty ninja. Independence is just a mere consolation. The “irrational, depraved, (fallen), childlike”[1] oriental is an eye candy now. His culture is a huge commodity to be consumed instantly. He has always been eccentric alright, but never been a standard fetish in this scale.
On the other side, the discourse of the emperor remains clearly the same. “You can not decide what you want. We know what is best for you.” Only now Balfours wear a cute mask.
The enormous palace of Coca Cola in Atlanta, rightfully called “The World of Coca-Cola” has an interesting attraction behind its giant walls, along many of other “cool” ones. This pretty room displays products from all over the world which the Coca-Cola Company has been producing and proudly marketing for years. It has the sour cherry juices with exotic flavors, the sweet flower juices from China, and 18 other brands consumed internationally. Not so surprisingly, the refreshing fountains of cool spirits are the most popular attraction for the tourists (mostly Americans). They taste the difference in little cups-just a sip not more-curiously. Hesitant but still really astonished faces sometimes spit out the strange juice, sometimes appreciate the fragrant aroma from the far side of the world. This little experience of the other is all they can get in the huge building. Not so surprisingly again, the only purpose of the alien zone is to convince the coke fans that the real thing is what they have been drinking for years. The real magical taste of the dark bottle. But still, the allegedly uniting strategies of the brand managers remain strong.
Coca Cola respects and embraces different cultures. It unites people with one modest bottle, a sip and a mouthful of love!
In Coca-Cola's utopian internationalism, it is not nature, but to the universal consumption of a commodity--Coke--which ties people together. Its implication is that if every person in the world drank Coke, we would all live in peace and brotherly love.[2]
So far so good…Now the giant companies want the people of the world to be juggled up in brotherly happiness, we can all feel peaceful about our pathetic existence in this small world. “A small world” indeed. As Walt Disney was so enthusiastic about, “a small world” is what peace is all about. The big guys now how to rule now. The motto transcends the notion of “divide and rule”. It becomes to “create your own”.
It is simple.
First you need the capital, of course. When you got loads and loads of money, you go and pick some remote place on earth to invest, which should be real cheap. You build your own cute little sweat shop, employ thousands and become the king of the place. Everybody loves you. Why, because you shine like a star in these poor people’s lives as the god-like being who gave them jobs to bring supplies to their homes, just enough to survive.
Then you go back to your home, which is probably in sunny California, and work on your campaign to announce how you want the children of the world to be all happy and healthy. You build your whole strategy on “we are the world” crap and ta-ta! Oh, you’re as cute as Santa Claus, chubby as an easter egg, an all so powerful like a real knight with the shiny armor. Kids love you. (First kids then the republicans perhaps.)
That’s probably the way things work around Roland McDonald, the magical wizard in charge of Coca-Cola and our dear Mr. Walt Disney.
But, that’s not all folks! As I said before you need to build/create you own little empire to succeed and amaze your crowd. This is your primary objective as the emperor.
Take Uncle Walt for example; he was dreaming of this small land of peace in his death bed, for god sakes! He deserves credit for his good intentions, if anything…
The Disneyland is just a theme park. Forget about the simulation formula weaved around it. Even the creators were shocked to realize that it was just a theme park. When they saw the filthy strip clubs, cheap motels, smelly burger stands start poping up around place, they were so frightened to ruin the dream for their beloved customers (should I say citizens?) that they decided to build a town! No filthy stuff, no dirt, even no mud on the shiny pavement. It should be all green and enchanted. And it should all be theirs, oops ours I mean. So our good old Walt came out with this project of EPCOT (Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow). Fancy, ha? Of course it wasn’t easy. Do you know how much hardship he had been through just to close the deal of that property with absolutely spending no money at all? It’s no joke. The place was twice the size of Manhattan Island, and he wouldn’t have to pay any taxes for it. Now, that’s a good bargain. Can only be made possible by a genius like him. He wanted to build this place for his people. "It will be a planned, controlled community," he explains, "a showcase for American industry and research, schools, cultural and educational opportunities." Great!
"In EPCOT," Walt promised, "there will be no slum areas because we won't let them develop." It just keeps getting better!
Unfortunately, Walt’s great idea had never come to life as he imagined. Later Disney executives and smart lawyers realized that “permanent residents of Disney World would threaten the company's control”.[3]
Same old story isn’t it. As Walt Disney puts it beautifully in his speech on July 1955; “I don’t want public to see the real world they live in while they are in the park. I want them to feel they’re in another world” The crippled reality of the leering clown replaces the fact that you’re being used, abused, brain washed, sucked to the last drop and thrown away as a disposed trash.
Of course, whole world knows about all these. Why do you think people get scared of the clowns? How they resist then? The answers is simple: From the inside. It’s not a hot and bloody independence war. It is a struggle to keep your cultural identity right where it belongs. Your very own existence, your beliefs, likes, dislikes and freedom above all, is now not forced to replaced, but more dangerously tend to dissolve in someone else’s.
And it is all so complicated know. The war from the inside, beyond the sewers of the mainstream challenges you to keep it silent and secret. Because when you put something out there which voices your pure concern for the ongoing neo-colonial abuse, it might air on MTV right away!
“MTV, like Google with all encompassing credo, “don’t be evil”, defines the face of the new multi-nationals. The clown face of McDonald is replaced by the smirk of the geek chic and knowing grin of the street smart kid. Contemporary MTV trades on the new cultural terrain of “massclusivity”, exclusivity for the masses.”[4]

There is nothing attractive about it. It is just there. When we throw out the tulle curtain before the truth, can it still be found? Are secrets the complementaries of truth? If we come to the point where we realize that all our searches was in vain, and there is no truth to be found, only the obscene reality of visibles, will we create our own phantasms, dark illusions of secrecy to re-weave the curtain which used to make us think that there was something behind?
Yeah, yeah…Zizek was right again…
“Now, we are forced to strike back, to deal with real enemies in the real world... However, WHOM to strike? Whatever the response, it will never hit the RIGHT target, bringing us full satisfaction.”[5]
[1] Edward Said “Orientalism” p.40
[2]Ted Friedman The World of The World of Coca-Cola Communication Research, Vol. 19 No 5, October 1992, pp. 642-662
[3] Hidden Kingdom Disney's Political Blueprint, Joshua Wolf Shenk
[4] On Air: The Visual Messages And Global Language Of MTV, edited by: Sophie Lovell Gestalten Verlag; Book&Dvdrm edition (March 30, 2006), p. 33
[5]WELCOME TO THE DESERT OF THE REAL By Slavoj Zizek, 09/15/2001

the man list

i'm a huge fan of the "the glamour list" on the last page.this month's issue was kinda cosmo-ish, but fun as always. with a scarily hot stud/gay fantasy/stallion/macho/full frontal pic of mr.beckham on the side, "the list" is worth sharing.

the spot is cheesy, and yes, nauseatingly cosmo, reading:

"15 things we love about men"

i have my thumbs ups and downs for each item, so let's quote:

"1. Jar opening, spider catching and other minor acts of heroism."

If my experiences count, my ex-boyfriend should be considered a total anti-hero, according to glamour people. he was scared of bugs to death, not a successful jar, bottle or any stucked object opener either. so i never cheered for an "act of heroism" in the kitchen while juggling with a can opener. however, my kind of heroism has an elric twist, anti-heroes work just fine.

"2. kisses at traffic lights"

I would like to expand this to "kisses at every stop/break/any given available moment".

yes, it is sweet, not neccessarily a "men move" though...

"4. really, almost any kind of uniform"

a definite nay vote from me. i'm really having trouble understanding this uniform fetish. i'm intimadated by military or security people and estranged by social workers for example (yeah, yeah, bourgeois concerns) i can't begin to imagine myself batting eyelashes to a policeman or a pilot. maybe marines are an exception but i believe that's only a hollywood thing.

"5. that any-sex-is-great-sex attitude."

exactly. i find it comforting, funny as much as fun. i even like it when they do silly silly things because of the uncontrollable sex drive - i think, they think they have control over it though-

btw, i really don't like blabbering about men as if i know anything about having a penis, or what that much of testosteron level can do to you. so, maybe now i should just smile to "any-sex-is-great-sex attitude" from a distance.

"6. their shoulders."

Duh!

"7. Tuxedos."

Now they lost me. I don't know what kind of beer googles i should wear to find a penguin attractive. maybe, if we were attending an 18th century ball, and then a Mr. Darcy were to ask me to dance, and i would fell in love with his embroidered tailed jacket and fluffy shirt while dancing around in circles, mayybee, loving tuxedos would be a slight possibility. other than that, no.

8.(this item is placed on top david beckham's buffed up photo, which reads: "that sometimes they look like this"

i have no words to say, thank you.

"11.How intimidated they are by your dad."

Maybe, it is cute. But it can be a problem too. Looking from the dad's side, it's great, my side echoes a communication problem. best is we all get along. yes, like a huge italian family. maybe,with a pinch of intimidation.

"13. How sexy their arms look when they're driving (especially gear changes)

Yes, this is a real cosmo cliché, but i hate to admit that it's painfully true with right circumstances being, "the man" here is your boyfriend, your crush or something like that and not a random hairy, smelly cab driver. above gear changes and cool wheel control, i am amazed by the way man drive in general. but then again, i am usually attracted to people who can do things i don't.

"14. The way they look at us when they think we're not looking."

This one is my favorite. It involves several dynamics of man-woman interaction. one being, women are truely sly, tricky, as much as playful witches/bitches who never waste a minute putting on a game, which in a strange sense they believe it will work to their advantage. the other being, men are sometimes so naive to swallow the bait, or better, they welcome it, knowing it is just a cute sign of plea for attention. the latter ofcourse is why i like the act of looking described here. anyways, if it is full of joy, sparkly with a note of admiration, i welcome every kind of gaze, and will happily blush over it.

And then comes the "and 15 things we love to HATE about them" box.

apart from numero uno, which complains about how easily they lose weight, i disagrre with most of them. maybe #15. "man flu", i agree unfortunately. how can a simple flu makes someone whine and whine and call mom, i won't ever get it.

the thin line between fandom and batshit crazy

i'm easy to impress. maybe easy to the point where the impresser gets bored by the "piece of cake" situation.



however, this time the "impressers" have no idea if i exist, so boredom is out of question.



being a tv/movie/sports/music/pop/crap/ junkie, junkie of the junks, i have a ridicilously uncool standard of sophistication. pickiness level is like next to zero. never managed to be a overly sarcastic smart ass, an arts freak who finds every fuckin thing man-made is too shallow for his/her taste, nor do i ever succeeded in wearing that "coolest genious ever" costume, which may have granted me with some wisdom of speech to cross the line of just "wow"ing the shows i watch.



so anyways, "me likey!" is a random bubble floating above my head while in front of any monitor, tv or pc.



however, sadly enough, this likey!likey! situation has a twist. just like love in real life, appreciation, admiration, fancying and stuff can sometimes get out of hand.



a simple fan behaviour becomes a love affair. you can find yourself reading useless stuff about a celebrity, when did she gets a hair cut, what was she doing when she was 11, why did her last boyfriend cheated on her -- bastard! -- which shoe size? let me check her astro chart -- yay! we're compatible! --

stuff like that ruined many batshit crazy fans' life, so beware.

now, with all due respect to dr.phil, i'll put myself to test. if i score above 6, call security.



1. Shane McCutcheon (Katherine Moennig)

The L Word is certainly a mind blower. But I'm not sure it will still blow certain body parts, if Shane wasn't literally "rocking" the show. This androgynous beauty, reminds me of the popular outcast boy from colllege who constantly speaks in low tones, the emo with hangover make up, the cool girl who you wanna hang out and read NME while drinking beer from the bottle, the indie rock star who is always cute and kind to the groupies backstage but fucks and never calls back all the same and Morrison with tight pants and half closed eyes.

She is all in one. Wrapped up in a beautiful anorexic, dirty package in shape of boxers. Sure thousands of straight fans of the show drool over Shane and think they are becoming a lesbian. But no, wish this was real love sweetie, but i am not blinded enough to think that i drool over a sweet girl. This is typical, chicks dig rock stars. So i give myself 6/10 for this.



2. Seth Cohen (Adam Brody)

That nerd stream is getting old. But still i couldn't help myself to put Cohen on the list, for old times' sake. About four years ago this skinny sweetness confused me so much that, it took me like 2 years to figure out how i feel. Most scary part is, he is so vulnerable, silly to the point of stupidity, puzzled, in desperate need of attention and lonely that i found myself "mommy"ing in front of the tv, "oh, baby please don't.." kinda compassionate, mushy words were spilling out of my mouth constantly. My heart used to break when he wears that puppy look on his face. i madly want to hug him, stroke his hair, canoodle and let all of that stupid misery wash away.


But one day, don't remember when, something weird happened. I realized that he was actually a man! Not even a boy. A man! God, that rush of anxiety, that blushed incest shame.
Above and all, Seth Cohen was a pretty good looking, stylish, smart young man with a hot girlfriend. He can draw like heaven, he smokes pot, has a somehow free spirit and has a boat for god sakes! So for a considerable amount of time, i switched to an Adam Brody fandom. still he is cute, yes. but i won't stalk a cohen, no. So, our point for this part is a humble: 5/10


3. Jess Mariano/Peter Petrelli (Milo Ventimiglia)





Jess: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: Hey.
Jess: Hi.
Lorelai Gilmore: Hi.
Jess: Hi.
Luke Danes: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: I have to get to school.
Jess: Yeah, me too.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Jess: Bye. Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Luke Danes: Bye. -Jess and Rory leave...
Luke Danes: What the hell was that?
Lorelai Gilmore: That was episode one of Rory and Jess: The Early Years.

(Gilmore Girls S03E08)




Alexis Bledel, the infamous Rory Gilomore is an angel. Well, Milo Ventimiglia plays Jess Mariano devilishly enough. So this alone is enough to impress me. (Told you i was easy)

This Jess character domianted my life for about a year. In realtion ofcourse, Milo Ventimiglia came into the scene. That crooked mouth, that sexy frown, little tramp moves he put on while flirting the lady (alexis and milo were dating in real life) all was dreamy.

Just when i was getting over him, after heavy drinking, excessive googling, faith takes its toll and bam! Milo becomes a superhero! just what i needed. More charisma, more attitude, pose, frown, buff, appeal, even more crooked than ever! That writer's strike was a life saver, Heroes was sucking the life out of me. You should guess the point now, still i'm not ashamed to write it down: 8/10



4. Ronnie "The Rocket" O'Sullivan


This Essex boy not only rocks out the snooker table, also puts an almost streetball style to the royal game. Even in prim and proper bow ties and vests, Ronnie manages to look ever messy. His eyes, even though, extremely focused, locked to the que ball with a hawk like gaze, are always hazy and far off. When i first watched him in the crucible years ago, ofcourse i immediately wiki'ed and found out that he has a bipolar disorder, various addictions, had a tough family life (parents with a criminal record must be hard). So again, the bad boy spot in my brain tickled. Every now and then, I closely watch every game and personal life respectively. A smile spreads on my face when he jokes about himself, when that depressed sarcasm slouch in every word and ofcourse when he scores a massive 147 in 7 minutes. impressive in all senses. deserves a 7/10.



Oh well, the level of love in this post fagged me out. so, the essential scoring, more drooling and worshipping will continue in a sequel.


But, even from the look of this, it seems i won't be able to stay on a note which will be considered healthy...

We'll see...